Chapter 11
They exited the top of the ziggurat and began their descent. A pair of Banshees that had been waiting outside the door of the top chamber, Naomi being among them, joined them and walked silently on either side of The Matriarch. Tired of walking in silence for as long as they had, Jonathon finally caved and asked, “So, you mentioned that the feast was to celebrate the destruction of the piece of The Spectre, but you moved the feast up to honor our visit…which we appreciate, by the way. But does that mean you plan on destroying the piece tonight as well?”
“No, child,” she responded calmly. “We have a very specific reason for the times we choose for the destruction of such pieces. These reasons are not so flippant as to be changed on a whim. So, its destruction will remain at week’s end as before. The feast, however, well, that is just something we do to treat ourselves.”
“I see,” Jonathon said, trying to mask his relief. “Well, we will likely be gone by then, but I wish you luck in your endeavor.”
“Oh, it is not so hard that we require luck,” she responded, laughing slightly. “The destruction part is easy. It is usually just a piece of wood, after all. We have done it countless times already. No, the hard part is holding on to such evil for the time it takes for the moon to be just right.”
Jonathon’s heart hit his stomach for a moment. Countless times? How much sooner could he have found a piece if they hadn’t been actively collecting and destroying them all? He was contemplating this as they reached the bottom of the hill and began walking through the camp. For the first time since that morning, Jonathon paid attention to the camp around him. It was like a completely different area. There were strings of paper spheres with candles somehow burning inside of them without burning the paper strung up on strings and hung between adjacent tents. There were also children, a lot more than he saw this morning, running around with paint all over their faces, laughing. The adults sat around numerous campfires scattered throughout the camp, laughing, drinking, and smoking from long pipes.
They passed many of these groups on the way to the center of the camp. Some were drinking and socializing, some were at tables with various colored paints for the children to request their favorite animal, and some were just groups of Banshees working on their equipment.
It was these tables that caught his eye the most. Most worked on unstringing their bows or fletching new arrows, but a few were actually creating some of those knock-out darts he and his crew had experienced the night before. He made a mental note of where they were as he and The Matriarch continued their trek. Finally, they made it to the heart of the camp. Here, they had cleared a large, circular section and lined its perimeter with poles and more of those strung lights. There were multiple cooking areas in this area where men would boil, sear, stew, or roast anything from vegetables to beans to corn to apples.
In the very center of the clearing, they built a large, flat, rectangular fire, easily twenty feet by ten feet, with a gigantic spit hoisted above it. Normally, Jonathon would wonder just how many animals they were planning on cooking, but seeing as they were almost prepared for the feast, the answer to that question was already rotating on the spit: one.
Jonathon wasn’t really sure what the animal was, but it was larger than anything he had seen before. It looked like an ordinary deer, but close to twenty times its size and with an extra pair of legs immediately behind the front pair. The antlers, equally massive, had been removed and were off to the side, serving as a climbing area for the children. The points were too numerous to count, but the cage they made when turned upside down was large enough for Jonathon to stand underneath comfortably.
Next to the pit, a stage had been constructed where the cooks tended the meal. Five men stood along the length of the beast with large bowls of what appeared to be seasoned butter, their sole task being to paint any dry portion with their brushes. Another walked the length of the creature and back with a bowl of mixed herbs, stopping here and there to apply a generous application to wherever he deemed necessary. The real work, though, was done by the turners. Attached to either end of the large pole that supported the beast was a large wheel with a rope run through it and attached to a second wheel on the stage. The second, larger wheel had a long handle attached where the men could line up and work together to spin the beast. This seemed to be the part of the show that the Banshees enjoyed the most, judging by the size of the crowd around the stage and the numerous catcalls he heard coming from it.
This, apparently, was also where his crew had made themselves most useful…or at least where they had most recently made themselves useful, as this was where he found them. They were all sitting with a group of the tribe members, also laughing, drinking, and smoking from the long pipe.
“Captain,” Cassie said, standing unsteadily as Jonathon approached. “Glad to see zhu back. Did zhu secure the piece?” Her face was tomato red, and she wobbled slightly as she stood there. Whatever was in those pipes must have paired really well with whatever they were drinking; he had never seen Cassie so affected by alcohol before.
“I did not,” he said. “The Matriarch here showed me the futility of my search. We will celebrate with them tonight and begin our journey back to the ship tomorrow.”
“But Captain, you…” Cassie began, her words trailing off as Jonathon’s sharp gaze cut her off.
“...have seen the error of my ways,” he finished for her. “We will leave on the morrow. If you wish to discuss the matter, you may do so with me later, Quartermaster.” He hoped his reminder of her role would shut her up before she let anything slip. Which it did, because she immediately shut up, sat back down, and began studying the edges of her cup with silent intensity.
“But Captain, you…” Ryden began, his voice high in a mocking tone.
“...have seen the error of my ways, Quartermaster,” Dryden finished, his own voice low but equally as mocking. “Come by my tent later and we’ll discuss it more…in depth.”
Ryden let out an exaggerated, high-pitched moan and the two dissolved into laughter.
Once the humor had run its initial course, Dryden mumbled to Ryden, “I’d like to get in depth with one of these Banshees.”
Clearly, it wasn’t just Cassie who had been affected by this pipe, Jonathon thought to himself. Though the twins’ behavior was admittedly not too far from normal, the open mockery of their quartermaster and captain was certainly new. Jonathon turned to Beckett and said, “I don’t suppose you have something odd you’d like to say to me too, do you?”
“No, sir,” Beckett responded. “I apologize for the twins Cap’n, they’ve been a mite insufferable since their first turn at the pipe. I actually had to actively pull ‘em out of the eye of the general public after Dryden here tried to flip the skirts on one of the Banshees. Damn near got himself killed.” Hearing this recounting of their actions, the twins dissolved further into their own world, mumbling and laughing at their own perversions.
Surprised at the level of sobriety his navigator was displaying, Jonathon commented, “I assume the pipe was not to your liking, Mr. Beckett?”
“Not at all. I actually rather enjoy the quality they have here,” he replied warmly.
“I see,” Jonathon pressed, attempting to discern the difference in his crewmate. “Then the alcohol is not to your taste?”
“What? The wine? Maybe a little fruity, but better than most of the grog I have on a regular basis.” He laughed, holding up his cup. “Not nearly as strong either. This is probably me eighth or ninth glass.”
Jonathon couldn’t stop himself from laughing out loud, “You never cease to amaze me, Mr. Beckett. I’ll trust you to keep the boys in line.”
He turned to The Matriarch, who had been watching everything play out with great amusement. “Matriarch, thank you for your hospitality. We will enjoy the festivities and be on our way tomorrow.”
The Matriarch eyed him curiously, smiling. “Indeed, boy. Enjoy the feast. If you find yourselves too tired to begin your journey on the morrow, you are still welcome to stay another day. We will not kick you out just because our feast has ended.” She laughed and left the group to their own devices.
As the hours drifted by, the aroma of the roasting beast filled the air, rich and intoxicating, mingling with the earthy scent of burning wood and the sweet smoke from the pipes. The warmth of the fires bathed the clearing in a golden glow, flickering shadows playing on the tents like dancing spirits. Jonathon initially sat with his crew, drinking and discussing all that The Matriarch had said and shown him. Then he listened as Cassie and the twins tried to form cohesive sentences. In the end, he figured Beckett was the only one who had actually followed everything he had said.
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Finally, shortly after the sun had set and the glow of the numerous fires had begun to light up the crowns of the surrounding trees, the chefs announced the beast had finished cooking. Their group formed in line with the other members of the tribe, only to be pushed to the front. Apparently, it was customary to allow guests the first cut of their choice of meat. Cassie took a cut of the leg, Beckett the backstrap, the twins the rump–likely just so they could say “rump”–and Jonathon took a cut of the shoulder. Once off the stage, they began making their way through the other various cooking stations seen before, filling the remainder of their plates with roasted vegetables, peppers, beans, and corn. After successfully building their respective, precarious food towers, they made their way back to the campfire and began eating.
The meat itself was some of the most delicious Jonathon had ever tasted in his life. He wasn’t sure if it was the butter, the seasonings, the way they cooked it, his particular slice, or the nature of the meat itself, but each bite seemed to melt in his mouth in an explosion of flavor that he feared would ruin his preference for other foods indefinitely. The roasted vegetables also served as an excellent side to the meat. Peppers of various colors and sizes added the perfect complement to the meat’s buttery savoriness. The beans and roasted corn, while simple in their flavor profiles, still added an excellent diversion for his taste buds, making his return bites of the meat and peppers as explosive as the first. They all sat in relative silence, each moaning in delight with every bite.
Over the next hour or so, they were visited by various members of the tribe who would stop and speak with them about the outside world and where they were from. At some point, Naomi and one of her friends came and sat next to the twins, giggling and blushing at every little thing the boys said. After a while, they invited the boys to dance. Without even a glance at Jonathon or either of their other two superiors, the boys were gone, order forgotten in the presence of desire. Shortly after that, one of the Banshees approached Beckett for a dance.
As he glanced toward his captain for approval, Jonathon nodded and the man smiled. He stood to leave with the woman, but came over to Jonathon instead. He clapped Jonathon on the shoulder and said, “Try an’ enjoy yerself, Cap’n, but please be careful. The Matriarch might smile, but she sees more’n she lets on.” With that, he turned and followed the woman into the crowd.
Unlike her male counterparts, Cassie, still influenced by the pipe and drink, had turned down every one of the men that asked her to dance. With each denial, she moved closer to Jonathon. After about the fifth or sixth invitation, Jonathon figured she’d end up on his lap by the end of the night…not that he’d complain, of course.
“Would you like to dance, Cass?” he asked her.
“Would I, what?” she asked, her face reddened in the firelight.
Was she blushing? Or was that the redness of intoxication? She definitely hadn’t been this red a second ago, had she? No, it was probably just a mixture of her intoxication and the change of lighting and position from Jonathon standing up.
“I said, would you like to dance with me?” he repeated, offering her his hand. “You don’t seem to want to dance with any of the locals that have asked, but if you’d like, we can dance and save you the trouble of being repeatedly asked.”
Maintaining her vigil of averting her eyes from his, she sat still on her seat for a moment. Slowly, she raised her hand and allowed Jonathon to raise her and lead her out to where the others were dancing.
It wasn’t quite the dancing that either of them was used to, but he figured they would catch on pretty quickly. It wasn’t as slow or deliberate as the way the wealthier people of Brightstone would dance, and it wasn’t quite as tribal as he had read about in different texts. The reality was somewhere in the middle. Two individuals stayed paired and moved together, staying close, as they would in Brightstone, but there was also a lot of individual movement between the pairs, as one would expect in a tribal setting. Overall, it wasn’t so foreign that Jonathon had difficulty blending, but still chaotic enough that no one would notice if he were to slip away from the center crowd. First, however, he had to be seen in the crowd.
As he and Cassie made it to an open area, Jonathon began mimicking the movements of those around him. Just as he felt he was doing a good enough job to start moving around, he looked over at his dance partner, who seemed to have caught on to the dance better than he had. More than that, she actually seemed to be enjoying herself quite a bit. He forgot his quest for the moment and decided to take this rare opportunity and enjoy this “fun Cassie.”
And that’s exactly what he did. For the next hour, he and Cassie danced their way through and around the crowd, not seeming to notice anyone else around them. Were they dancing the right way? Maybe, maybe not. Did they look stupid? Probably. But for some reason, neither of them were able to find the ability to care. She moved one way, and Jonathon moved the other. She stuck out her hand, and Jonathon grabbed it without hesitation and spun and dipped her low. He had never seen her so carefree…or beautiful. Was the air of this jungle permeated with some kind of strange toxin? Or was he being cursed for stealing a look at her? Whatever the reason, Jonathon found himself again having to actively remind himself of his and her role on the ship.
It was in the middle of one of these mantras, near the edge of the group of dancers, that Cassie had moved in closer to him. Placing her hand on the upper portion of his chest, she leaned in, the touch of her whisper tickling Jonathon’s ear, and said, “I’m having a lot of fun J–”
Startled by her sudden closeness, Jonathon jumped back, accidentally cutting her off.
“Well done, Cassie. I think we’ve provided sufficient alibi to slip away now,” he said, his brain fried and grasping for something, anything, to say. He grabbed her hand and hurriedly slipped between the tents.
He continued to lead her quietly through the tents as she said, “Wait, what did you say?”
“I said we’ve given ourselves enough time dancing with the tribespeople to have sufficient alibi to sneak away and acquire some equipment for what I have to do tonight,” Jonathon said, fighting the heartbeat that he was sure she could hear from behind him. He dared not look back or pause in his movements; otherwise, he knew he’d be unable to resist crossing the line that he forced between them.
“‘Sufficient alibi?’” Cassie asked incredulously. “Why would you need an alibi?”
“Well,” he continued, still not stopping or turning to face the woman behind him, “on the way here from the temple, I saw some Banshees working on their equipment. Among them, I saw a couple of them crafting some of those lovely knockout darts. I figured if I could get my hands on some of them, then breaking into the temple tonight would be a hell of a lot easier.”
He felt her hand leave his. He stopped, finally turning back to face her. She had stopped moving and was staring straight at him.
Oh no. He had seen that look before. He had seen it on the face of many women the following morning when he went to leave with no intention of returning. He had seen it on the faces of villagers and sailors alike once they realized their goods were being surrendered to him and his crew. Yes, he had seen that look enough times in his life that he could place it anywhere, but he had never before seen it on Cassie’s face. She was hurt. Her knitted brows almost touched. Her eyes, normally sharp and unwavering, were soft, a slight coating the surface. Her lips were slightly parted, as though she wished to respond, but then she pressed them back together. For the briefest of moments, she looked almost defenseless.
Jonathon continued to stand there, silently staring at her, frozen in place, afraid to break the silence for fear of what consequences hid behind Cassie’s face. After nearly ten minutes, she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “Is that why you invited me to dance? So that you would have an excuse to slip away?”
“Well, yeah, Cass,” Jonathon confessed. He knew he could lie to her, but her eyes told him that was the last thing he needed to do in this moment. “You looked uncomfortable having to constantly say no to those guys, and I needed a reason to leave the area, so I figured we could kill two birds with one stone.”
Instant regret. He wasn’t sure if lying would have been any better, but it certainly couldn’t have been any worse. Cassie’s eyes flared as her voice began to regain its usual confidence, the defenselessness he had seen moments before quickly receding behind an impenetrable wall of anger. “You thought I was uncomfortable having to turn down the men who asked me to dance? Really?! You think me so frail and timid that I can’t tell a man no? Have you not seen what I can do to a man with my cutlass?”
“True, true, true,” Jonathon cajoled. “All true. You’re right. Honestly, I just assumed the mixture of whatever was in the pipe with the alcohol had thrown you off.” He paused, reflecting on how he had arrived at his conclusion. Had he only seen what he wanted to see in that moment? No, she had certainly appeared uncomfortable. Something about her in that moment was wrong, he was certain. “But if you weren’t uncomfortable,” he asked, his voice losing its placating tone, “then why did you look so timid and shy?”
“Because I’ve never asked someone to dance with me before!” she almost shouted back at him.
“But you didn’t even ask…” was all he managed to get out before she had stormed away, out of sight.
Gods, he thought, what was going on with her? He had never seen her so volatile before. Whatever, he thought as he remembered his goal, it was probably better this way anyway; any longer and she may have drawn attention to them. He turned and continued his journey back to the equipment tables. Unfortunately, Cassie’s anger wasn’t so easy for him to just put away. He continued to find his mind drifting back to their interaction, the pain on her face etched into his memory. He would obviously prefer not to have hurt her, but he didn’t understand any of it. Why was she choosing to make such a big deal out of this? Sure, he used her in his scheme, but it’s not like he hadn’t done that before. Why was she choosing now of all times to get upset about it?
He put the thought aside for what seemed like the sixth time in the last few minutes and focused on what he was doing. He continued to slip and slide between tents, avoiding the ones that were lit or those that had groups near them, and choosing the ones that were darkened. The darkened ones with sounds coming from them were the best ones as they provided a muffling for what little sound he did make.
After a few more minutes, he saw the tables. Thankfully, they had been completely abandoned at this point in the night, and thankfully, the village was trusting enough to leave the equipment out in the open. He snuck up to the closest one. His heart raced as he reached for the blowgun, his fingers grazing the smooth wood. Footsteps approached, and he ducked inside the nearest tent, praying it wasn’t inhabited, the faint smell of the tent’s material filling his nose as his knees pressed against the cool, packed dirt. He held his breath, attempting to be as silent as possible, as a Banshee passed by. Seconds seemed to stretch into eternity. He could feel his heart beating in his ears. His lungs began to burn. He regretted holding his breath, but knew if he were to breathe now he would give himself away. Just as he felt he wasn’t going to be able to hold it in any longer, she moved on, leaving Jonathon to breathe again and quickly snatch the darts and slip away into the night. Prize in hand, he made his way towards the temple.
